


Bright As You Can

by Sineala



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Noir, Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Cap-Ironman Bingo, Community: cap_ironman, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Multiverse, Self-cest, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 05:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10758126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: When Steve shows up at Tony's penthouse for one of their usual no-strings-attached dalliances, he's sure as hell not expecting to find a second Tony waiting for him. And they're both interested in keeping him company.





	Bright As You Can

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Всё будет ярче некуда](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15122972) by [Leshaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leshaya/pseuds/Leshaya)



> For Cap-IM Bingo; the square is "kink: double penetration."
> 
> Thanks to Robin_tCJ and Magicasen for beta.

It's 2300 and Steve's sitting on the edge of his bed, one boot already wrenched off, when his phone beeps. It's lying facedown on the bedside table, and Steve scowls at it when it beeps again because he hasn't checked the message yet.

This is one of the things he hates about the future, one of the thousand tiny resentments that have worked their way under his skin: he's never alone. While he's willing to concede that constant contact is a boon for the Ultimates, it irks him beyond the telling of it that the entire rest of the world seems to think they deserve everyone's attention, at any time that they want it. Everyone is expected to be available, always. It's an astonishing degree of entitlement. He knows he's missed a few steps of technology, pagers and answering machines, a gentle slope of progress to the present day. He's been thrown in the deep end of the pool. Maybe if he'd grown up with these things like everyone else now did, he'd embrace the future like they do.

Instead he has culture shock and a beeping phone. 

It's not the Ultimates, at least; SHIELD has more secure comms for them. No, whoever it is wants his entirely personal attention.

He scoots over on the mattress. And then he picks up the phone and finds himself smiling, because the message on the screen is from Tony:

_You should come over. I've got a present for you._

And he doesn't mind when it's Tony who wants his attention, does he?

He and Tony have a relationship that he categorically refuses to let Tony call _fuckbuddies_. They have an understanding. After Jan, after Natasha, neither of them were seeing anyone else, and it was... easy. It _is_ easy. They don't need to explain their lives to anyone else. Sometimes you just need to spend the night with someone who knows who you are and doesn't ask anything else of you.

And Tony may be Tony, with all the flashy, breezy charm that Steve has come to, if not adore, at least tolerate. Being with Tony is like standing next to a lit theater marquee all the time. But he's not actually as much of an asshole as he pretends to be, he hasn't breathed a word to either the press or their teammates, and -- all things considered -- he's a damn good lover. Steve could do a lot worse.

He glances at the message again. He's not stupid, and he's not ignorant of innuendo, and he's pretty sure Tony would label this a _booty call_. He glances at the clock. It's a little late, but, well... it's Tony. He likes Tony.

 _On my way_ , he texts back, and he goes to put his boots back on.

* * *

The elevator opens onto Tony's penthouse suite. Steve takes three steps forward and stops dead.

There are two Tony Starks.

They're sitting at either end of one of Tony's couches. One of them is wearing his usual expensively tailored suit, his collar undone in a nod to his general dissipation, clothing rumpled and creased like the fact that it must have cost thousands means nothing to him. There's a wine glass and an empty bottle on the little table next to him.

The other Tony looks like he stepped straight out of the forties. His clothes are well-made, too, with a familiar cut to them, but they look like they've seen better days. They're patched and darned, his boots are crusted with mud, and he's wearing suspenders. Steve hasn't seen a man in suspenders since he woke up in this future. His hair is slicked back in a style Steve used to call fashionable. He's cradling another one of Tony's wine glasses.

They're both smiling, although the second Tony's smile has no hint of recognition in it.

"Happy birthday," Tony -- his Tony -- says.

Steve glares. "It's _January_."

Unconcerned, Tony shrugs. "So I'm a little early."

"What the hell is going on? Why are there--" he motions toward the other Tony-- "two of you?"

This is clearly Ultimates business after all. Or SHIELD business. So why did Tony text him like he was looking for some kind of assignation?

"It's a long story, darling." Tony purses his lips. "There was a bit of a malfunction with a multiversal portal over at the Triskelion. This charming fellow came through." He pauses. "Actually, that's not a very long story at all, is it? Hmm."

" _Tony_."

Tony waves a hand. "He's from Earth... Earth something. There was a number. Doesn't really matter, does it? Anyway, he's here until tomorrow morning, when SHIELD will be able to send him back. I've been asked to entertain him in the meantime." Tony puts a throaty emphasis on the word _entertain_ , and Steve can feel his face go hot, because Tony absolutely cannot mean that the way it sounds. But Tony, thankfully, is still talking and doesn't notice. "I've also been asked not to... shall we say... discuss various elements of the modern geopolitical situation with him. SHIELD's no fun." Tony makes a face.

Steve interprets this as _don't tell him who won the war_.

Tony blinks, like he's forgotten something. "Oh! My manners! Steve, this is me. Me, this is Steve. Steve Rogers. I was telling you about him. We call him Captain America." He winks. "Sometimes I call him other things, if he asks very nicely."

This is... this is a goddamn farce. And, Christ, they were talking about him behind his back? Tony told him they were sleeping together?

Steve can't believe this. Well, he _can_ , because it's Tony, and he supposes that a man might reasonably want to talk about his own love life with his alternate-universe counterpart, but-- but--

The other Tony -- okay, Steve's just going to think of him as _Stark_ or he's going to go crazy -- stands up, walks over to Steve, and holds out a hand. "Tony Stark, former adventurer for Marvels magazine. Pleasure to meet you."

Steve grits his teeth and shakes Stark's hand. "Charmed."

Stark gives him that bright smile, the one Tony's so good at. His eyes are wide and enthralled. "Aren't you lovely?" he breathes. "I don't think we have one of you where I'm from. I'd definitely remember meeting someone like you."

Steve frowns, trying to ignore the obvious flirtation -- though with Tony, that's always difficult -- and focus on the content. "What year is it where you're from?"

"1939."

Rebirth didn't select Steve until 1942, and Steve doubts that Stark would have known him -- the Steve Rogers of his universe -- before that. Steve didn't exactly pal around with millionaires back then. "Yeah," Steve agrees, "you're a little early, too."

"Not by much, though," Tony puts in. He's standing up; he's gone to get another bottle from the wine rack. "Steve here is about your age," he explains. "Product of a government program to make a super-soldier. Bunch of surgeries, enough steroid cocktails to make the former East German Olympic team weep with envy, a few more super-secret injections, several decades frozen in an iceberg, and here we are."

Stark's eyes narrow. "East _where_?"

"Uh," Tony says. "Nothing. Never mind."

"Okay." Stark draws the word out and turns back to Steve. "Well. Nice to meet you, anyway."

Steve's expecting Tony to open the bottle, but instead Tony sets it down on the counter behind himself, strides across the room, and stalks into Steve's personal space like a predator waiting to attack.

"Steve," Tony purrs. "I was just talking to myself--" he tips his head toward his counterpart with a grin-- "and we had a question for you."

Oh. It's a proposition after all.

"So when you said you had a present for me," Steve says, cautiously, "you meant a sex present."

Tony pats his cheek; it's a little strange, him being so demonstrative when there are people around, but then, the only other person is also Tony. "You make it sound so crass, darling," he murmurs, and the thing about Tony is that he says it like he honestly thinks that's delightful. He's smiling.

"It really isn't my birthday," Steve says, helplessly. It's not a sensible objection, but it's the only thing he can voice.

"Well, it's not _my_ birthday," Tony points out. "I'd have asked for two of you." Steve's not sure what his face does, but it must be something awful, because Tony quickly says, "Or not."

Steve glances around the room; the other Stark is watching them with interest. "You're interested in this?" he asks. "Both of you? With, uh, yourselves? And me?" It seems... more than a little deviant. The threesome aspect alone, well, Steve's never done that before. And the other aspect -- he doesn't think _anyone's_ ever done that.

Stark shrugs. "I'm an adventurer," he says, with a dazzling grin. "Magic, mystery, romance -- it's my stock in trade. I'm always looking for new experiences. Don't think I'll ever have the chance for this one twice. And you seem... well, let's just say it's not a hardship." He eyes Steve up and down, not quite a leer, and Steve shivers pleasantly.

"We were considering it anyway," Tony tells him. He bites his lip. "And then I thought maybe you'd want to join us. Maybe that could be something you were into, hmm?" His mouth curves. He breathes the words in Steve's ear, their own very private secret.

Steve's not sure how he does it, but one of Tony's talents is that he has an unerring knack for figuring Steve out. Especially in bed. He'll come up with things that Steve has never thought of -- little things, but all things that just never would have occurred to him -- and they do it for Steve like nothing else. Tony's worn silk and lace. Tony's insisted they fuck in front of a full-length mirror. Tony's called him so many filthy names that Steve can't think of them without reflexively getting hard, and he was in the goddamn Army.

And now this.

He can picture it now, Tony and his counterpart wrapped around each other, and it feels strange, but not in a bad way. Dirty-wrong, but not bad-wrong. It feels strange in a way that makes his palms sweat, makes him hot all over, and he knows he wants to see that. He wants to be there for that.

Steve swallows hard. "Yeah," he hears himself say. "Yeah, okay, I'm in."

* * *

He wonders, as Tony leads them to his bedroom, whether he'll be able to tell the two of them apart. The idea that he might not be able to honestly makes Steve a little uncomfortable -- sure, they're both the same person, but what if there isn't something that makes his Tony _his_? (And since when is Tony his, he wonders.)

What if -- oh, God -- what if he gets it wrong?

And then Stark pushes his suspenders off his shoulders and starts unbuttoning his shirt, and all of a sudden Steve doesn't have to worry about telling the two of them apart.

There's a metal panel embedded in Stark's chest, over his heart.

"You must be a lot of fun at airports," Tony says, cheerfully.

Stark blinks at the apparent non-sequitur. "What?"

Steve knows exactly why Stark doesn't understand. "It's a future thing," he says, and he attempts to give Tony a meaningful glare to get him to knock it off, but Tony's busy making eyes at... well, at himself. It's that familiar flirtatious look, a gaze directed through long, dark lashes. He's gorgeous, and he knows it.

This is definitely the strangest sexual experience Steve has ever had.

"It's called a repulsor pump," Stark says, as his shirt drops to the floor and then his undershirt follows. "It, uh." He looks up, takes in Tony's gaze, and stops talking. "You know what?" he says, and his voice goes low and dark. "I'll tell you all about it later."

Tony reaches out and snags Stark by the dangling loop of one side of his suspenders, dragging him in like he's on a leash. And then they're kissing, Tony and his counterpart. It's incredibly bizarre, seeing the two of them, like he's fallen through the looking-glass and into Wonderland, and it's also the most arousing thing Steve has seen in his entire goddamn life.

Tony's hands are splayed across Stark's bare back and Stark's hands are fisted in Tony's expensive shirt; they've drawn each other close. Stark has his head tilted a little, so their noses don't bump, and they're kissing slowly, unsure, like they're still testing the waters. And then there's a flicker of tongue as Tony opens his mouth, and suddenly they're just going for it, kissing like there's no tomorrow. Stark's fingers thread through Tony's hair, Stark slides a leg between Tony's thighs, and one of them -- probably Tony -- is moaning, small broken sounds of pleasure that go right to Steve's cock.

Tony's giving as good as he's getting, though; Steve watches with a vicarious, voyeuristic thrill as Tony shoves his hand down the front of Stark's trousers, fondling him with teasing touches. Stark gasps and breaks the kiss, face upturned, as Tony nibbles on his neck, in the exact place that Steve knows drives Tony wild. They both know each other's most sensitive spots already.

Stark is panting heavily when he pulls away, and Tony is grinning in glee.

Tony chucks a thumb over at Stark. "You should try him, darling. He's great."

"I'm planning on it."

He infuses his voice with all the courage he can muster, like he's leading the Ultimates into battle. He hasn't been with anyone new in a while, and, well, he's not Tony and he doesn't know Tony's tricks, so he can't help worrying a little that he won't measure up -- surely Tony's most adept lover would be himself?

And then Stark pulls him into a kiss, and his worries evaporate.

Kissing Stark isn't quite like kissing Tony. He smells different, for one thing; something about his soap or aftershave is hitting Steve with an aching nostalgia. With his eyes closed he can almost imagine he's still in the forties. Stark isn't quite as demanding as Tony would be. He doesn't know Steve, and he's not kissing him like he presumes to. His mouth on Steve is feather-light brushes at first, then deeper, but still tentative. Oh, he's still good, and Steve is still a little weak in the knees, but it's not the same. He's a stranger who wears Tony's body.

Steve feels he ought to contribute, and he knows a thing or two about what Tony likes. He puts his hand to Stark's face, lets his thumb skim along Stark's jawline, and Stark hums his approval into Steve's mouth and rocks forward, rubbing up against Steve.

Steve has his other hand on Stark's lower back, inching down and down. He pulls his head away to whisper the question: "Can I?"

"You're sweet," Stark says, and Tony's familiar insouciant, rakish grin curls over Stark's face. "By all means."

So he slides his hand lower, across Stark's ass. Stark groans incoherent praise into Steve's mouth and thrusts up against him, a little more insistently -- and then he returns the favor, as Steve feels the weight of an inquisitive hand on his hip, sliding back.

The kiss deepens, and Stark's wandering hand becomes bolder. Steve can believe he's an adventurer; he kisses like an explorer, mapping out uncharted territory. Looking for somewhere to plant his flag. So to speak.

When Stark finally lifts his head, Steve is breathless and desperately aroused, and for half a second he can't even register why they stopped, until Stark glances over at Tony, who is watching them with a satisfied smile, one hand lazily palming his own cock through the fabric of his pants, like the two of them are his own personal pornographic film.

"So," Stark says. His mouth is bright red and there are tiny bruises on his neck. "Anyone have any preferences?"

"Steve in the middle," Tony says, instantly, and his gaze has gone dreamy-eyed. He gives Steve a small, hopeful smile. "Spit roast?"

Steve's never heard that particular piece of slang before, but the imagery is... evocative, if crude. His mouth is suddenly dry. God, he wants that. Tony on both sides of him, taking him in every possible way. He knows he ought to be appalled. Maybe he even is, on some level. But, oh, the thought of being perfectly filled up by Tony--

Somehow he manages to summon up a scowl for Tony. "I'll do it, but only if you never, ever call it that again."

"Deal," Tony and his counterpart say at the same time, instantly, and they smile identical knowing smiles.

Steve glowers and starts stripping. He takes some solace in the fact that Stark is speechless for a good ten seconds after Steve takes his shirt off.

* * *

Steve's naked, on his hands and knees, in the middle of the bed, and a version of Tony from another universe where it's 1939 has three slick fingers in his ass. Steve feels awkward and exposed in a way that, surprisingly, seems to be doing a hell of a lot for him, because, Jesus, there's two of Tony and they're holding him open and _watching_ Stark's fingers in him, oh God. And he is, as always, embarrassingly sensitive. His untouched cock throbs between his legs as he gasps for breath. He's dripping on the sheets, about ten seconds away from coming, just from Stark's fingers, and he's trying desperately to stave off his orgasm by thinking of something, anything else. Tactics. Mission reports.

It's probably good that this isn't technically Ultimates business, because Steve isn't sure he could ever write up a mission report for this one.

"You like that, don't you?" a smooth, soft voice murmurs, from behind him. It's Stark, not Tony; even though the the voice is the same, low and dark and confident, they don't make accents like that anymore. "Look at you, gorgeous, you love that."

One of them -- probably Stark -- has a hand braced on Steve's hip, so the hand that drifts possessively along Steve's side must belong to Tony.

"He positively adores it," Tony says, voice pitched like he's confiding an amazing and wonderful secret. "He always has. He can come just like this. Look how close he is. If you angle your wrist just like-- yeah, there you go--"

Stark's fingers inside him are right where they need to be, and a starburst of pleasure lights up deep within him and he groans and tries to hold out just a little longer. He didn't know it was going to be like this, but oh God, Tony knows every filthy thing he's ever liked and he's going to tell his counterpart how to do all of them. He's going to put them on display, to read out aloud every secret, dirty kink from the open book that is Steve's body.

Tony leans up and breathes warm, wine-scented breath in Steve's ear. "Don't hold out on us, darling," he whispers. "Let go." He licks Steve's ear just how Steve likes it best, which is definitely not playing fair. Shivery heat races down Steve's spine and he's -- oh God, oh God -- almost there. "Come on, sweetheart," Tony murmurs, low and cajoling. "I know exactly what you want to see. I'll let you watch up close while I suck him off."

And suddenly that's all he can picture, Tony on his knees in front of his counterpart, Tony's perfect mouth stretched around his own cock, beauty and near-incestuous perversion, and oh fuck, that's it, he's gone, he's gasping and spurting onto the sheets as Stark fucks him with his fingers, taking him gently through his release.

Steve's elbows and knees slide out from under him and he lets himself settle into the mattress in a haze of pleasure, eyes closing, the side of his face pressed into the sheets. He's dimly aware of Stark removing his fingers as Tony softly pets his hair. He feels slick and open, practically dripping, needing to be filled, on the exquisite edge of oversensitive, and his cock's already getting hard again because, God, Tony said he could watch--

"You really think I should fuck him now?" Stark is asking from very far away, his tone dubious. "When he's like this? He just came. How's that going to be any good for him?"

Steve opens one eye and tracks the motion of Tony's fluttering hand.

"Give him a few minutes," Tony says, and he sounds proud, as if he had anything to do with Steve's superhuman refractory period. Steve decides to be generous and let him take the credit. "He can go all night. It's amazing."

Steve smiles and lets his eyes fall shut again.

There's some more rustling, which Steve ignores, until Tony says, "Hey, come over here a second." He nudges Steve. "Open your eyes, darling."

When Steve opens his eyes, he sees Tony kneeling on the floor next to the bed. He still has one hand in Steve's hair. Tony is unselfconsciously naked, the way he always is; he holds himself like it's a sure and certain fact about the universe that everyone wants to admire his body. And when it comes to Steve, he's not wrong.

Tony grins conspiratorially at Steve before directing a sultry smile in Stark's direction and holding out his hands, beckoning him forward.

Stark, who was somehow still half-dressed, swallows hard and shucks boots, socks, trousers, and underwear in record time, leaving them in a pile on the floor as he steps toward them. The metal plate on his chest gleams in the muted light, and he has several nasty scars, the kind that look to have stories behind them. At least two of them are bullet wounds.

"You don't have to tell me twice," Stark says, grinning widely.

Stark's enjoyment of the evening so far is plainly evident; his hard cock bobs as he walks. He's not so close yet, Steve judges, and that means Tony can take a bit of time, and Steve's own cock throbs in anticipation. He's a little amused that Stark, like him, is uncut; here he'd been thinking he'd be identical to Tony, and it turns out they're actually easier to tell apart with their clothes off.

Stark stops in front of Tony, shifting his weight in hesitation. Tony just chuckles, leans forward, and trails a few kisses across his hip, on the verge of taking his cock into his mouth. He's looking at Steve when he does, and the corners of his lips twitch into a smile in the instant before he opens his mouth wide.

Steve's been the lucky recipient of many blowjobs from Tony, but he certainly hasn't ever seen one from this angle. Tony's lips are slick and red, lush, like he's been ready for this all night, and above him Stark groans and thrusts in.

"Oh, Christ, that's good," Stark breathes.

There's no word for it but _showy_. Tony pulls off, licks up all along the length of Stark's shaft in broad, wet swipes of his tongue. He kisses the tip, and then opens his mouth and lets the head of Stark's cock rest on his tongue like he's posing for a picture. He has one hand down between his own legs, jerking himself off slow and lazy, and then he glances over at Steve and winks. Steve's hips piston helplessly and he grinds into the mattress. The knowledge that Tony's doing this _for him to watch_ sends heat all through him. God, he wants a picture of this. Some days he's grateful for his photographic memory.

Honestly, Steve isn't sure where to look. There's Tony's mouth on Stark, of course, and Tony's hands on himself, and then there's Stark's bright, ecstatic face -- which is Tony's face, Tony's face that he's seen so many times before.

Stark's gaze is fixed on Tony -- because, really, who wouldn't want to see this? -- and he makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a laugh. "This is a goddamn travesty," he pants. "I think you're better than I am."

Tony's eyes glitter with suppressed laughter. Then Tony quits teasing and swallows him down. Stark's eyes snap open, he moans something entirely incoherent, and his hands lock into Tony's hair. His hips snap wildly as he thrusts forward into Tony's mouth, again and again. Steve watches the wet slide of Stark's cock between Tony's parted lips and everything within him is one aching tangled mass of need.

"Okay, okay, enough," Stark gasps out, and he drags Tony's mouth off his cock. "You gotta leave me something for the main event."

Tony sits back on his heels, and he looks absolutely wrecked. His mouth is bright red and shining, there's spit and pre-come all over his chin, and he's grinning a self-satisfied, feral grin. "Duly noted," he rasps, and then he glances over at Steve. "I think the captain here is about ready to go off again on his own, hmm?"

Of course Tony knows. Tony knows everything about him. Steve's not sure if he's blushing, but he feels flushed all over, warm and tingling. Tony knows without even really looking at him, and calling him out on it just makes him want it more. His cock throbs.

"Ready whenever you are," Steve says, gruffly.

Standing up, Tony laughs and slaps him on the ass. "Hands and knees, soldier."

Steve struggles back to kneeling as Tony climbs onto the bed, kneeling in front of him. Dazed with pleasure, he reaches for Tony, who isn't quite close enough for him to get his mouth on yet. He can't quite figure out why Tony isn't here. Tony needs to be here. He needs Tony in his mouth, needs Tony to fill him up. He thinks he says something, but he isn't sure what. It's hard to come up with words.

But Tony doesn't move in -- at least, not the way Steve wants. He pets Steve's hair gently, strokes the side of his face in a tender caress. "Easy, sweetheart," Tony says, low and reassuring. "You can have me, I promise. I'm going to give you everything you want. But I'm waiting a bit, okay? I'm going second. We're making sure all systems are go while you can still talk, all right?"

Steve nods -- he thinks he nods -- and Tony keeps petting his hair. The bed dips, and behind him, Stark has one hand on his lower back, splayed out. There's the flat click of the lube bottle, and a few familiar slick sounds.

Tony looks up, over his head, and then he glances down at Steve. Steve supposes they're waiting for permission.

"Please," Steve whispers.

There's a familiar blunt pressure, too big to be fingers. His body yields easily, and then Stark's inside him. He's big, but Steve knows he can take him; he's the same size as Tony, after all. Stark doesn't push all the way in, doesn't fill him like he so desperately needs, and Steve moans out a wordless complaint and pushes his hips back, trying to get more, trying to take it all.

"He's always like this," Tony says. "Never met a man so hungry for cock as Steve here, right, darling?" He's filthy and affectionate, and all Steve can do is whimper. "You can give it to him hard. That's his favorite."

"This is the best adventure I'm never going to be able to write about," Stark says, a little wistfully, and then -- oh, thank God -- he's pushing into Steve deeper and deeper and deeper until he stops.

Steve breathes in and out, and it's good, it's all good, it's so good. "More," he slurs.

Stark laughs. "That's all I've got, I'm afraid. But I think your Tony's got something for you, yeah?"

Tony's hand on his face gently tilts his chin up. His other hand is curled around the base of his cock, and he leans in like he's going to feed it to him inch by inch. He pauses, holding himself just out of reach, and Steve opens his mouth, because he needs it, God, he needs Tony. He wonders if Tony wants him to beg. He wonders if he would.

Very slowly, Tony eases forward, and Steve takes him in, feeling the familiar weight of him on his tongue, the satisfying heft of him in his mouth. He half-hears and half-feels Tony moan, a pleasant hum. He clenches down around Stark, savoring the feel of Stark deep within him. He's all filled up by Tony in a way he never knew was possible. He never knew how much he needed this.

"There we go," Tony breathes. "Everything you want, huh? Just how you like it?"

Steve can't speak, but he meets Tony's eyes, and Tony smiles down at him.

"Okay," Tony says, a little more loudly, so he must be talking to Stark. "Go for it."

Stark's hands tighten on his hips, and he draws back and thrusts in, hard, and it's so good Steve thinks he might die. He groans, the sound muffled, his mouth still wrapped around Tony's cock, and above him Tony gasps. Tony's shaking with the effort to hold still.

"Oh, you really like that, don't you, darling?" Tony breathes. "Oh, God, Steve, you're so good at that."

He thinks at first that Tony must be flattering him, because a whole lot of Steve's attention is elsewhere, but as Stark drives into him Tony snaps his hips forward and Steve takes him all the way down. Steve's never done this before, but it's not like he needs to breathe as much as regular people do. Tony must like it, because doesn't usually let himself go like this; for all his talk, he's usually so scrupulously careful with Steve, and Steve thinks Tony worries that it will be too much for him, that everything will be too new, too different, that he'll cross some line that isn't even there.

Steve can take everything Tony wants to give him.

"Christ," Tony says. "You've been holding out on me, but you can take it all, can't you? Oh, fuck, Steve."

Stark thrusts again and again, pounding him fast and hard, just like he likes it, and Steve moans again. He's suspended here, between sensations, and whether he moves forward or back he's still filled up. He doesn't have to choose, he can't choose, because Tony's here, both of him, Tony's surrounding him.

"So good," Stark agrees, breathlessly. Steve wishes he could see, but he can picture it, his body stretched around Stark's cock as he slides in and out. He's pretty sure Stark's enjoying the view.

Steve doesn't have to do anything except _be_. He lets his tongue curl around Tony's cock, he lets Tony slide down his throat again for a bit. Tony pats his face in an uncoordinated caress, and when he looks up Tony's smile is soft and easy. Just for him. 

Stark's still fucking him, and God, he's as good as Tony is. Steve supposes that shouldn't be a surprise. He doesn't know everything Steve likes, not like Tony does, but he's perceptive, he's good at paying attention to Steve's body, and he's very determined to make sure Steve has a good time. He shifts position, changes the angle, and oh, that's it, right there, just a little more--

"He loves getting fucked. Don't you, Steve?" Tony pants. His thrusts are a little shallower now, and Steve can breathe a little. His head's still swimming, and all he wants is for this to go on forever. "Oh, you know what we should have done? Could still do, even?"

"Mmm?"

Stark makes a low noise that might be interest and might be a reflection of the fact that he's thrusting into Steve as forcefully as possible. He's hitting Steve's prostate every time and Steve is positive that he's not going to last long.

"We could both fuck him," Tony says. "I'm sure he can take both of us. What do you think, Steve, darling, both of us at the same time?"

Steve's orgasm blindsides him, as Tony's words push him over an edge he didn't know was there. He's trembling, barely staying on his hands and knees, coming hard, a wave of pleasure rolling over him, and all he can picture is what Tony's saying. Distantly he's aware that it's not going to happen because Stark behind him is swearing and clutching him tight, his thrusts gone ragged as he comes inside Steve, as Steve wrenches his orgasm out of him.

The bed creaks as Stark slumps over behind him.

"Well," Stark says, a little apologetically, "we can definitely try it if I ever come back. Oh my God." He breathes out, satisfied and exhausted. "That was good. Thank you."

"He's always good," Tony says, and he pats Steve's head.

Steve still can't answer aloud, as his mouth is occupied. Tony hasn't come yet. Tony often takes a while. Sometimes he ends up not coming -- or, more often, needing to finish himself off. Steve's not sure if it's the drink, or one of his medications, or just something in Tony's mind, and he's never asked. It's none of his business, and it's nothing he can affect. Tony always seems to be having a good time, and Steve figures he would tell him if he weren't.

So Steve's not really surprised when Tony tugs his head up, says, "Hey, sweetheart, come up here and kiss me," and then falls back on the bed as Steve curls up next to him so he can kiss him. Tony's mouth is soft and sweet; his kisses are a mix of urgency and hesitation, like he both wants and doesn't want this to be over at the same time. Steve understands that, all right.

They're still kissing when Stark lifts his head and looks at them.

"All right," Stark says, determined, like he's been given a mission. "My turn." And he crawls up the bed and comes to rest between Tony's splayed legs.

"By all means," Tony murmurs, against Steve's mouth, and Steve breaks the kiss to watch.

Stark starts out slower, more methodical, an adventurer at work. He buries his face in Tony's groin, inhaling the scene of him, nuzzling him. He kisses Tony's balls, which Tony always likes, while he strokes him with one slick hand.

"You should," Steve says, and finds he can't say it. "He likes." He gestures vaguely. Words desert him.

But Stark just nods and smiles, and Steve watches one of his hands disappear between Tony's legs, and Tony arches up against him as Stark's fingers breach him. Stark puts his mouth on Tony then. His technique is a little less refined, and he doesn't quite seem to know how much of Tony he can take, and Steve considers the possibility that maybe he hasn't done this very much; Steve hadn't, after all.

Tony props himself up on his elbows and watches Stark's head bob. Steve has to admit it's a very motivating sight; his cock throbs again. But he's here for Tony, and he's determined to be useful, so he reaches out and helpfully pinches one of Tony's nipples, rolling it between his fingers until it's peaked and sensitive.

Out of smart remarks, Tony just moans.

And it's not like Steve doesn't know what Tony's endgame here is, so he leans in and whispers in Tony's ear. "I bet you want to watch yourself come right down your own throat, don't you?" he murmurs, and he pinches Tony's nipple again for emphasis.

Tony gasps and arches up and then he's coming. Stark can't quite swallow it all, and as he pulls back, Tony is still coming, all over his face now, wet and messy. Steve fumbles for his own cock and jerks himself off, a few quick strokes before he's coming again, with Tony still trembling next to him. He figures no one can blame him.

Eyes shut, Tony sags back onto the bed, and reaches out with shaking hands, caressing Steve. "Thank you," he whispers. He's slurring his words, tumbling fast into sleep. "Both. Both of you. Thank you." He pats Steve again, uncoordinated. "Especially Steve. Darling. Love you. So much."

Tony is fast asleep, and Steve stares at him in something that might be affection and might be terror, because he's never-- they've never--

"He's never said that before, has he?"

Steve turns around to find that Stark has wiped his face off and is now regarding him with a knowing look.

Steve has no idea what to say. Stark just smiles.

"Come on," Stark says. "He drank more than I did; he'll probably be out until morning. I say we raid his icebox."

* * *

It turns out that Tony, for some godforsaken reason, has an entire pre-carved ham sitting in his refrigerator that he hasn't even touched. Steve thinks he probably doesn't even know it's there. His loss.

He feels amazingly dissolute and decadent as he and Stark sit in Tony's borrowed robes in front of Tony's floor-to-ceiling view of Manhattan. He's just slept with two of Tony. At the same time. He doesn't think it's possible to be more dissolute than that. Skyscrapers shine in the dark as they eat slices of ham with their bare hands. If anyone had tried to tell him that this would be what the future was like, and that he would have been here to see it, he's sure he would never have believed them.

"Thank you," Stark says, abruptly.

"Uh." Steve isn't sure what the etiquette is in these situations. He wonders if the future has etiquette guides for threesomes. "You're welcome?"

Stark waves it away. "Not for that," he says, and then he grimaces and amends the sentence. "I mean, not just for that. For everything." He waves a hand. "They said they weren't allowed to tell me... anything about anything... in case my future was the same as your future, but." He pauses. "He said you were Captain America, and you came in here draped in the damn flag. They may not be willing to tell me anything, but I-- I have to think that's a good sign, you know? I have to think that maybe, where I come from, things will turn out... like this. So that in the next millennium people are still waving the stars and stripes." His smile is a little misty.

"I don't think I'm allowed--" Steve starts to say.

"No," Stark says. "I know. You can't tell me. I'm just saying you don't have to."

"It's still a war," Steve says, because he figures he can say that much. "It's not easy."

"It never is," Stark says, very quietly, and he rubs at his sternum, at the plate over his heart. He pauses. "He really does love you, you know," he says, even more quietly.

Steve's own heart skips a beat. "How--"

"I'm him, Captain," Stark says. "I see how he looks at you. And he told me about you. You should hear him, the way he talks about you, like you're the best thing in his life. It's really something." He smiles again. "Honestly, I'm jealous."

Tony loves him. Tony _loves_ him.

"Don't be," Steve says, something within him bright and buoyant. "Maybe you'll find me."

"Yeah?" Stark's eyes glint with interest. "You think you'd like me, in my universe?"

_I think I love you in mine._

"Yeah," Steve says. "Yeah, I think I would."

For the first time since he opened his eyes in this century, Steve considers the possibility that the future's not so bad after all. It's got Tony in it.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr post](http://sineala.tumblr.com/post/160107930554/fic-bright-as-you-can) for your reblogging/liking edification.


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